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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494761">Solace</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian'>TheGreenMeridian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Finding solace, First Time, I make it sound miserable but the overall tone is hopeful and positive, M/M, Religious Themes, emotional exhaustion, period typical internalised homophobia, vague Song of Solomon references</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:55:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494761</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A bark of near-hysterical laughter escapes him. “You cannot possibly be willing to lower yourself to something so detestable to... to what, bolster my spirits?”</p><p>Edward reaches for him, slowly extending his hand as if approaching a frightened dog and allowing it to sniff his fist for signs of ill intentions. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he need only lean forward a little to brush the tips of his fingers over the back of John’s hand.</p><p>“I don’t see it as lowering myself,” he says as he coaxes John’s hand into his own. “Especially not if it were with you.”</p><p>For my “solace” square on terror bingo</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lt John Irving/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Terror Bingo, The Terror Bingo (2020)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Solace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>As always, come find me on thegreenmeridian.tumblr.com</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“John?”</p><p>Edward’s voice is soft, softer than he deserves. The inherent kindness of the man too much to bear atop the pressures that already weigh down his soul.</p><p>Of course, Edward will not leave him alone. Such a blessing is too much to ask. Instead he creeps on light feet into the too-small space, pulling the door shut behind him and blocking out the dim light of the lamp with the breadth of his body. He hesitates. Places a hand on John’s shoulder. Squeezes.</p><p>“I... heard you. Through the wall.”</p><p>John sniffs, a child’s sound for a child’s emotion. “I am... well. Well enough. It’s late, Edward. Surely you must require sleep?”</p><p>“It has eluded me of late. I’ll not be able to find it for another hour or two at least.”</p><p>“It’s been much the same for me,” John admits. He dabs at his cheeks with the sleeves of his nightshirt. There’s no use hiding the state of himself. “You are welcome to sit, Edward.”</p><p>A squeeze of his shoulder, then Edward obeys. He perches on the edge of John’s bunk, out of place, and brushes his hair back from his brow. Edward was never hugely given to fastidiousness, not like John, but the toll of the expedition has rendered him shaggy and wild. There’s a crude masculinity about him now, of which there was only hints when first they set sail. John should despise it in him, should be furious with him for setting such a poor example to the men, but the emotion is half-hearted if it is there at all. To his shame, he envies the way Edward can be as uncertain of himself as John, as self conscious as John, yet seem not feel the need to force a presentation of a man who does not exist. John can only imagine how freeing such a state must be.</p><p>“I’ve a little chocolate left, if you’d like,” he offers.</p><p>Edward nods, and John reaches up to retrieve it from the shelf above the desk. It’s dry now, and solid from the cold, but he breaks the remaining strip of it in half and hands Edward his share all the same. They chew in silence, and John thinks of how much he misses the salt and fat of macadamia nuts. </p><p>“We’ll be alright, John. We will,” Edward says when he swallows the meagre mouthful. There’s little conviction in his voice.</p><p>“I pray for it. I pray for it, but I wonder if...”</p><p>The thought trails off before he can let it escape and cause too much damage.</p><p>“You wonder?” Edward probes gently. “What do you wonder, John?”</p><p>Perhaps he should admit it all. Perhaps that’s what he needs to earn his forgiveness.</p><p>“I wonder if He will listen to a man such as I.”</p><p>“Who else would He listen to, if not you? There’s no man aboard either ship who is as devout as you, John.”</p><p>“Perhaps to someone with a heart less... less riddled with sin.”</p><p>Edward frowns, his face undeniably suited to the expression. “If you’ve been... if it has been hard to keep faith—“</p><p>“Nothing so forgivable as that,” John says, bitterness tainting his voice. “You wouldn’t— if you knew the thoughts I’d had— Edward, you of all men should not wish to see me absolved of this.”</p><p>His heart is pounding in his ears, the sound of it deafening and drowning out the miserable creaks of the ship against the ice; as likely to dash him apart as the ice too. He cannot turn to look at Edward and see well-earned disgust there. Or worse, misplaced pity. Instead he keeps his eyes glued to the surface of his desk, the wood worn and ink-stained from whichever man occupied the room on Terror’s last voyage. The last voyage, before this last voyage. They’ll walk out soon enough and leave her to be devoured by the ice, and perhaps John will stay behind with her. Two broken and useless things bonded together for eternity, both as fit for sailing as each other.</p><p>Again Edward’s hand appears on his shoulder, the warmth of it obvious even through the many layers John has taken to sleeping in. A thumb, the skin rough and weathered, moves out and over his collar to stroke what little bare skin there is between his nightshirts and his beard. This one brief touch, such a small gesture of affection, it’s the only contact he’s known in years that wasn’t a handshake or a medical necessity. The most tender contact with another human being since childhood. </p><p>He yanks away from it and gets to his feet, fleeing to the far corner of the tiny room and clenching his fists at his sides.</p><p>“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t, it’s not— I’m not—”</p><p>“If you are... it’s alright,” Edward says quietly. He looks down at his lap for a spell, fiddling with a strand of thread that’s come loose on one of his sleeves. When he looks back up, there’s a solemnity in his gaze that reminds John of the priest in his childhood. “There’s enough here to make us miserable, John. Don’t add more to your burdens.”</p><p>“Anything less than misery about this would be acceptance and I can’t... I can’t allow that, because if I do, I shall lose what little control I have,” he says desperately.</p><p>“Would it... would it be so terrible if you did?”</p><p>Of course it would. It is bad enough that he has the thoughts he has, that they’ve produced dreams that result in his body committing sin against his will. Punishment already comes in the form of being unable to bear to look at Edward on the rare occasions he smiles because of the warmth that blossoms in the pit of his stomach at the sight of the skin crinkling around Edward’s bewitching eyes. To act on them would bring even worst to his pitiful soul. </p><p>And yet the protestation seems to congeal on his tongue.</p><p>“I don’t like to think of you as miserable, John,” Edward says after a while. “Not for this.”</p><p>A bark of near-hysterical laughter escapes him. “You cannot possibly be willing to lower yourself to something so detestable to... to what, bolster my spirits?”</p><p>Edward reaches for him, slowly extending his hand as if approaching a frightened dog and allowing it to sniff his fist for signs of ill intentions. In the cramped confines of the cabin, he need only lean forward a little to brush the tips of his fingers over the back of John’s hand.</p><p>“I don’t see it as lowering myself,” he says as he coaxes John’s hand into his own. “Especially not if it were with you.”</p><p>John can hardly breathe, yet he does not pull his hand from Edward’s gentle and steady grasp. They have both of them suffered the effects of icy winds and their skin rasps together like fine sandpaper. He wonders if Edward spends long minutes each night gingerly massaging wool grease into the cracks and fissures that form on fingers in such temperatures, if he too has worried that the damage is permanent and a full range of movement might never again be possible. </p><p>“It’s not right,” he whispers.</p><p>Edward’s thumb strokes over his knuckles, a rhythmic back-and-forth that makes it easier to breathe. “I used to believe it of myself, too.”</p><p>“Used to?”</p><p>“Mm. I realised I couldn’t change it and I... I suppose it became too difficult to hate it then.” He shakes his head, the mess of his hair ruffling further with the movement. “I learned to see the good in it.”</p><p>John takes a step closer. Another. He looks down at Edward gazing up at him, the mournful eyes softened by lamplight and concern, the full lips turned down at the edges. He’s so tired. Exhausted to his bones with the strain of carrying the weight of his sin. </p><p>“Help me see it,” he begs in a voice almost too small to be heard.</p><p>Edward nods, a small jerk of his head. He releases John’s hand and stands and for a moment, John thinks he is to be kissed. But Edward turns and lifts up the layers of blankets instead, and climbs beneath them with a lack of grace difficult not to find endearing. He lays on his side and holds them up, and John takes the invitation.</p><p>The first thing that strikes him is the warmth. It penetrates through the layers of his nightshirts and into his skin, blessed relief from the chill that has been within him for at least a year now. The second is how undeniably natural it feels to be in another’s arms. In Edward’s arms. Sturdy and sure around him, clutching him close to his chest.</p><p>He tilts his head up and finds his nose against the hair of Edward’s beard. When he inhales, there’s something beneath the scent of soap that he supposes must be how another person’s skin smells. He lacks the vocabulary to describe it. There’s something comforting in it though, something that provides almost as much warmth as Edward’s body.</p><p>“I don’t... I’ll not ask you for anything,” Edward sighs into his hair. “This is enough for me, John.”</p><p>“Don’t you want to...?”</p><p>“I do. Christ, of course I do.”</p><p>It’s an odd sensation, to be desired. To hear another say with such vehemence that they want you. John has known nothing like it before in his life. It settles in the pit of his stomach like the fire of his first taste of rum, the burn spreading out across his body and reaching lower to places he hardly lets himself acknowledge.</p><p>“You could kiss me, if you like,” he whispers.</p><p>He drags his head from the safe haven of Edward’s neck and looks at him. There’s a seriousness on Edward’s face that would look like rejection if not for the way his eyes flick lower and linger on his lips like a caress. Ever so slowly, Edward lays a hand upon his cheek.</p><p>“You’ll tell me if you don’t enjoy it?”</p><p>John nods. His eyes fall shut on their own as Edward moves closer and then...</p><p>And then he’s being kissed.</p><p>It’s chaste, as much as such a thing can be. Edward’s lips barely move against his own, stay only a few seconds before pulling away. But they return swiftly, slightly parted and pulling John’s lower lip between them to gently suck. For a moment, John can hardly comprehend the feeling, so unused to such things as his body is, but then, oh, then he feels it. The heady rush of pleasure that courses through his veins, the overwhelming urge to return each movement in kind far stronger than the fear of embarrassing himself with his clumsiness, the need to push himself closer to Edward’s body and feel more of his steady presence.</p><p>He hears a sound escape his throat, something breathy and womanlike that should humiliate him, but it doesn’t. It’s honest. It’s more honest than perhaps he’s ever been in his life. His hands are clenched around fistfuls of Edward’s nightshirt for lack of anywhere else to put them. If he lets himself touch Edward he might not be able to keep himself from bursting entirely into flames, from sin or desire he can’t be sure.</p><p>“John,” Edward breathes against his lips. “John, is this... are you...?”</p><p>They should stop. They must. He’s condemning himself to hell, perhaps condemning them all by giving in to this sickening part of himself that has been fighting to ruin him since he was a boy. </p><p>But God help him, he’s never felt so at peace in his life. Even with the tension building in every fibre of his muscles, even with the steadily growing ache between his thighs. To finally feel another’s touch, another’s affections, it’s greater and more Holy than he ever imagined.</p><p>“Please,” he whispers.</p><p>Edward groans then, the vibrations of it rumbling through them both. He reaches between them to pry one of John’s hands from his shirt and brings it to his hip, and John grips it with just as much force. </p><p>“What do you want?” Edward asks, stroking his cheek. His voice is a low rasp that belies his own desires and to John, it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.</p><p>“I don’t know. I’ve never let myself think of it.”</p><p>Not deliberately, at least. In dreams, yes. In the few times he’s fallen under the influence of liquor. He’s woken up shuddering out the effects of the vague ideas his mind creates when he cannot control it, spent the day forcing them all back behind the creaking wall he’s constructed around that part of himself. Even now, on the cusp of letting Edward do such things to him, he cannot quite bear to let them loose willingly.</p><p>Edward exhales slowly. “But you do want this? If you don’t, I’ll say no more of it, we can—“</p><p>“I do. I can’t stop wanting, no matter how hard I pray for Him to heal me of it.”</p><p>A small kiss is pressed to his forehead, something far too gentle to comprehend. “I know.”</p><p>John flexes his hand where it holds onto Edward’s hip. He shifts it up a little and finds Edward’s ribs. They’re more prominent than he would have expected. Though of course, reduced rations have taken a toll on them all. He closes his eyes and moves his touch to Edward’s back, the muscles beneath the skin obviously well maintained despite everything. Surely one of God’s greatest works.</p><p>“You’ve done this before,” he says quietly.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And you would want to with me?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And how... how would we...?”</p><p>He lets his chin be tilted up into another kiss, Edward’s lips slow and almost hesitant against his own. “However you wish, John,” he says when they pull apart. “Though I should like it if you— if you had me.”</p><p>The air in John’s lungs leave him in a rush. He’d not thought of that as a possibility at all. He’s younger, shorter, slighter. Lower in rank.</p><p>“You would let me?” he croaks.</p><p>“Yes. I’ve wanted it from you for a good while.”</p><p>“Will it not hurt you?”</p><p>He feels movement on the pillow, and presumed Edward is shaking his head. “No. It feels... I don’t have the words for it. But it doesn’t hurt.”</p><p>It hardly seems possible. Surely it hurts. Surely a man’s body cannot accept such an intrusion without pain. But then, if that were true, would so many men be willing to experience the act with regularity? Would Edward sound so breathless in trying to describe it?</p><p>“Ok,” he says.</p><p>When Edward reaches across him for the pot of wool grease he keeps for his hands, the weight of his body is greater than anything he’s felt yet, and he sprawls beneath him and holds him there until Edward drops the pot beside them and resumes kissing him. He feels his way over broad shoulders, mapping lean muscle and running his fingers down the length of Edward’s spine until they linger just above the swell of his buttocks. He’s magnificent, but more arousing than the shape of him is the way he sighs and pushes into every touch as if he can’t get enough. As if John’s hands feel as wonderful to him as Edward’s body feels beneath them.</p><p>He can no longer ignore the increasing pressure between his legs. He’s felt it before, fought against it as best he can every time by splashing himself with cold water or trying to exercise. He’s never once brought a hand to himself. All he knows of completion is the unsatisfying tremors that linger when he wakes from dreams. Now, though, some primal instinct in him knows he needs friction against it. His hips rise of their own accord and his need collides with the hard line of Edward’s own; the sensation so exquisite that he moans like an animal, wounded and frantic.</p><p>“‘S ok,” Edward mumbles between kisses. “You’re allowed to feel it. Let go.”</p><p>“It’s... Edward, I can’t...”</p><p>He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say, just that the sensations growing within him are rapidly becoming too much to bear. Edward runs a hand down his side and takes him by the hip, steadies him against the bed, rocks into him. Pants against his lips in such a way that it almost sounds like John’s name.</p><p>That, it seems, is all he needs to go hurtling over the edge, quivering and almost sobbing into Edward’s mouth as it rolls through him. The little movements of Edward against him do not cease, pulling more of the pleasure from him and leaving him weak and quivering. He is struck with the urge to beg forgiveness, not to the Lord but to Edward, but Edward begins kissing along his neck and murmuring affectionate nonsense, and the shame he knows he should feel will not come.</p><p>“Let me clean you up,” Edward says kindly, when the last tremor has escaped him.</p><p>John nods.</p><p>All three nightshirts are peeled from him in turn, and if Edward thinks it odd that he sleeps in so many, he doesn’t say. He cannot bring himself to open his eyes and see himself so exposed, and is only aware that Edward has stripped off his nightshirt too when he feels bare skin pressed sweaty to his own. </p><p>“I’d thought you’d be lovely,” Edward says softly, kissing the edge of his lips. “You’re so smooth. Softest thing I’ve felt in a long time.”</p><p>The weight upon his chest lifts, and John forces his eyes to open so that he can take in Edward’s body. He’s breathtaking. Undeniably masculine. John reaches out and runs his fingers through the hair decorating his chest and finds it like silk.</p><p>“What shall I do for you now that I’ve...” he trails off. Swallows. “Should I touch you?”</p><p>Edward plucks the pot from the bed and removes the lid. His eyes stay fixed on John’s face as he rests it upon John’s sternum and dips his fingers into the grease.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ll last if you touch me,” he says thickly.</p><p>He raises up on his knees and reaches behind himself with two fingers. With a small grunt, his mouth falls open and John realises why. He’s penetrating himself.</p><p>“You... oh...”</p><p>“It’s... mm, it’s to get myself ready for you.”</p><p>John’s protest that he is of no use for the act after what has just occurred falls silent on his tongue when Edward’s explanation send a pulse through him that confirms he’s risen again. Until now he has not quite managed to look at his prick, nor Edward’s, but he does now. They are similar, he thinks. Of similar shape and size though his own is a touch more pale and Edward’s with a longer foreskin. He cannot believe that a man’s body could possibly fit such a thing inside it.</p><p>“Are you certain I won’t hurt you?” he whispers.</p><p>Edward nods. He must do something with his fingers that please him as the muscles in his thighs clench and a fat droplet of fluid emerges from his slit. John thinks absently that he should like to taste it.</p><p>There hardly seems to have been much time spent at all on preparing Edward’s body for what he’s about to do to it before Edward’s gathering up more grease and spreading it over the length of John’s prick. He shuffles himself forward until he’s hovering above it, holds it steady in one rough hand, then sinks himself down onto it with a low groan that cannot be mistaken for anything but pleasure.</p><p>It’s almost unbearable. The heat of him, the slick vicelike grip of his body. The sensation of being so completely joined with another’s body. He realises with a sudden, crushing certainty that he could have easily died without ever knowing such a purity. It wrenches a sob from his chest that makes Edward freeze upon him.</p><p>“John? Shall we stop? If you need to—“</p><p>“No,” he gasps, “no, please, keep— keep moving. I have to—“</p><p>It turns into a moan he can only just stifle as Edward rises up and sinks back down upon him in a perfectly fluid motion. His hands fly to Edward’s thighs, fingers sinking into the sinuous muscle and sliding over soft hair, feeling every ripple beneath the skin as Edward continues to move atop him. </p><p>“How does it feel?” he forces out. “Edward, tell me, I must know how it feels.”</p><p>“Good. John, so good, you’re... fuck, the stretch of it, it’s...”</p><p>He leans forward a little, and something in the angle must cause some new pleasure John cannot comprehend, sending him slumping over John’s body with a deep groan as his inner muscles spasm wildly around John’s prick. </p><p>“Will you do this to me? Will you let me feel it too?” he begs.</p><p>Edward nods. He presses their lips together clumsily and John rejoices. How could God have designed a world where such a connection is attainable and not wish John to experience it? This is not sin, it is the closest to God a man could possibly be. It is worship in its purest form of the glory of God’s creation.</p><p>The primal instincts overcome him, pulling his feet flat against the bed and bringing his pelvis up from it to meet Edward’s buttocks each time they come against him. It drives him impossibly deeper, makes Edward grunt and claw at his chest. The rhythm they find is stumbling, unpracticed, but John cannot imagine anything more perfect. Not when Edward is panting his name, not when he feels Edward’s body tighten around him. </p><p>“Finish in me. Want to feel it,” Edward huffs.</p><p>“Yes. Yes, I will, I will, Edward. I will.” Already it’s growing in him. Even as unfamiliar as the sensation is, he knows it. Knows it will not take much for for him to obey Edward’s command and express his desire in the ultimate way. “Will you... Edward, will you...?”</p><p>Another groan, another frantic kiss. “Close.”</p><p>He takes Edward by the buttocks then, feeling smooth skin and downy hair. So luxurious, his Edward. So beautiful. John wants to lick the sweat from him here, to spend an hour at least dedicated to learning the shape of his arse and thighs, perhaps painting him in watercolours over and over until he has talent enough to do him justice. </p><p>Belatedly he realises that Edward’s prick has remained untouched between them. There’s nothing at all stopping him now from working his hand between them to seek it out, and the first tentative grasp of it sends quivers through Edward’s insides.</p><p>“I made you like this,” John says, half dazed with the shock of it.</p><p>Edward is so hard, like iron in his grasp, and so slick that John would think he’d spilled already if not for the desperate way Edward clings to his shoulders when John strokes him. It takes only a few more for Edward to tighten almost violently around him, spurting in jets across John’s chest, marking his body with every choked off grunt against his neck.</p><p>John follows him only a few abortive thrusts later, and the knowledge that he’s emptying himself into Edward’s body drags his pleasure out to the point that he thinks it might never end. That the remainder of his life will be spent whining Edward’s name and feeling himself pulsing out his release in endless waves into the depths of Edward’s body.</p><p>When it finally subsides, Edward is practically collapsed atop him and pressing lazy kisses to his neck. John slips his arms around Edward’s back and holds him there. </p><p>“Thank you,” Edward says softly.</p><p>John nods. Holds him a little tighter.</p><p>“I see it now,” he says as his fingers make patterns over Edward’s shoulders. “The goodness in it, I mean. Is it like this every time?”</p><p>Edward eases off him, and John feels himself flush from head to toe as he feels a flood of his own spend follows his prick when it slips free of Edward’s hole. One of his nightshirts is sacrificed to the cleaning, and then Edward is pulling the blankets over them both and fitting himself under John’s left arm and resting his head upon his breast.</p><p>“It should always be like this,” he says eventually. “With any man worth your time, it will be like this.”</p><p>“I feel... free. As though I’ve at last set down a weight I’ve carried all my life.”</p><p>“It’s a horrible thing, to go without affection for so long.”</p><p>John closes his eyes and focuses on all the points of contact between them. Edward’s leg slung over his own, Edward’s hand petting the meagre hair upon his chest, Edward’s body moulded against his side. How blissful it is to feel another’s skin in such quantities.</p><p>“It is,” he says quietly, sadly. “I do not know I could take it again.”</p><p>He feels Edward’s lips purse against his chest in a delicate kiss. “I had less time without than you, but now, more than ever, I need...”</p><p>“I’ll give it to you, Edward.” Even to his own ears his voice is uncharacteristically confident. “Whenever you might need it.”</p><p>“I can’t ask that of you.”</p><p>“It’s as much for me as it is you. Please, Edward. I can’t go back to how I was. And I... I could not do this with any other.”</p><p>Edward props himself up on one elbow and looks down into his face, eyes searching for something. He takes John’s cheek in his palm. Presses a soft kiss to his lips that lingers in such a way that John is powerless but to chase after it when Edward pulls away.</p><p>“If you are certain. Truly certain, John. I won’t see you suffer in your faith.”</p><p>“My faith is stronger than ever. You’re a gift from Him, Edward, not a cruel temptation as I once thought. He would not have let me feel so at peace now, if He did not wish us to know each other in this way.”</p><p>He closes his eyes and opens his heart, seeking the guidance he has relied upon his entire life to do what is right. Again he is struck by the sensation of Edward’s skin on his own, and the warmth radiating from his perfect form. There is not a speck of guilt hiding beneath it, no uncertainty or fear. Only the glory of such a simple thing bringing such unimaginable relief to his aching soul.</p><p>“Will you stay with me a little longer?” he asks.</p><p>Edward’s lips find his, and a hum of agreement sends tingling vibrations over the chapped skin. This is love, John thinks. What other name could be given to the joy that blooms like lilies in his heart at every touch? What else could such devotion to another’s happiness be but love?</p><p>He threads his fingers through Edward’s wild hair and lets himself be kissed thoroughly. They will sleep separately tonight, for that is how things must be, but he believes truly now that they will make it home to spend their nights together without fear of being found.</p>
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